


we hope they treat you well, hope you don't work too hard (we hope you get to be happy sometimes)

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wreck-It Ralph Fusion, F/M, Suicidal Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6270361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After twenty-five years, Bellamy is really just getting tired of being the bad guy. So he leaves Monty the Mender to see if he can get a medal and be the good guy, for once.</p><p>It doesn't sound that hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we hope they treat you well, hope you don't work too hard (we hope you get to be happy sometimes)

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I actually have some disclaimers? That's new. First off, per the tags there are some references to suicide, as well as an argument about it, so please be aware of that. Second, please be aware that Lexa is the antagonist in this, but does not die. No one dies.

At the end of the day, Bellamy knows his job doesn't define him. Really, he does. He knows he's lucky that his game is still running after all these years, when so many other games have come and gone. In this economy, with kids today doing console and online gaming at home instead of at the arcade? Yeah, he's very lucky. 

It just gets tiring, being the bad guy, day-in and day-out, getting thrown in the mud, living alone in a fucking garbage dump.

"Seriously, what's up with that?" he asks his sister. He spent a few years not complaining to Octavia about this stuff, because her game didn't have the staying power his did, and it was hard for her to not be resentful. Not that it was really a surprise to either of them; a spin-off game starring the villain's sister was just weird, and even Octavia admits it wasn't very good, to boot. But she'd been too proud to just join him in _Monty the Mender_ , when he'd been thinking maybe he'd be getting an ally. The fallout from that one had been rough on both of them.

But these days, her life is pretty good. She started dating Lincoln, from Tapper, and working at the bar with him once the arcade closes for the night. Bellamy knows it's still not like having her own game, her own _world_ , but--it sounds like an improvement to him, over getting thrown off a roof. But the grass is always greener, right?

"You're gonna need to give me more information here, Bell," she says, but it's fond. "That wasn't enough to figure out your issues."

"I don't have to live in the garbage, right? That's just rubbing it in. They have a condo building. I bet it's warm in there. The players wouldn't know if they let me sleep there at night."

"All the condos are occupied. What, do you want to room with Monty?"

He scowls at the counter. "That's so unbelievable?" he asks. "Not with Monty specifically, but I could be a good roommate. Maybe. We don't know."

"You can't touch the building without breaking shit."

"I _can_ ," he says, and scowling. "As far as I know, I can."

"Maybe check that before you start trying to get a room." She bites her lip, considering him. "Look, Bell. I get it. I do. Why do you think I went gameless instead of moving in with you?" They both wince, and she quickly adds, "That came out wrong."

"No, I know. I get it." He gives her a grin. "If I got my own spin-off game, I'd totally abandon you too."

"Shut up." She sighs. "Have you tried talking to Monty? He's a nice guy. Maybe he could talk to everyone else."

Bellamy runs his finger around the rim of his glass. "I tried, yeah. I, uh, tried to talk to everyone."

O nods, like this explains everything. "And it went terribly and you fucked it up?"

"It's our anniversary," he admits. "You know. Twenty-five years."

"Shit. I can't believe I forgot."

In spite of his awful night, it makes him smile. "Well, like you said, it's not your game. But--yeah. They had a party. I might have accidentally destroyed the cake."

She groans. "Come on, Bell."

"Accidentally! It's not like I've ever had a cake before, okay? How was I supposed to know they were soft and fragile? And Jasper was being a fucking dick."

"I know," she says, sobering. "It was an accident, right?"

"Destroying their building isn't."

She huffs, tosses her hair, and rolls her eyes. The disdainful Octavia triple threat. "That's not your fault. If you didn't destroy their building, you guys wouldn't have a game, so--"

"Preaching to the choir, O," he says. "I was kind of a dick about it. Back when we started."

"Growing pains." She leans across the bar. "Look, Bell, there's one reason you're not a hero, and one reason only." He finds himself leaning in, desperate for whatever hope she'll give him. "Programming."

He sags back with a rueful smile. "Not comforting."

"In another game, you _would_ be the hero, okay? But you're in _Monty the Mender_ , and you're doing what you're supposed to do. You're not doing anything--" He can see her tripping over the words, and he's so glad they're cool again. He's still got his baby sister. "You're doing what you're supposed to do," she settles on, and it's a fucking small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

It's just--he's a _bad guy_ , right? He's not supposed to follow the rules. He's not supposed to do as he's told.

Which is how, after a couple more drinks and a lot more resentment and annoyance, he ends up staggering into the new combat game they got last month, even knowing it's a terrible idea.

For one thing, Bellamy is an old-school game character. Not to, again, get too _kids today_ , but he's pretty sure that serious games now don't have characters with names like _Break-It Bellamy_. Which might not be a bad thing, but _Warzone: Earth_ is really not the place for a character like him. And, in general, he tries to avoid situations where he might end up dying outside of _Monty the Mender_. Not that he loves dying in his own game, but at least when it happens, he comes back. If he does it anywhere else, it's actually game over.

Still, he can't bring himself to worry, because, like Octavia said, he'd be a hero in a different game, and he thinks _Warzone: Earth_ might be that game. Plus, most of these soldier NPCs just don't have much to them, when you get down to it. He's definitely smarter than they are, with better survival instincts. And he's planning to use them as human shields or anything, but they die _all the time_. They're basically cannon fodder; they probably don't even notice. So he's pretty sure he can survive to the end, save the earth, win the prize, and go home and rub it in Jasper's face. He's got this.

Except, as it turns out, Bellamy's never _really_ interacted with a player character. Monty's a player character, in the technical sense: the player controls him. But there's only so much the player can _do_ with Monty. There's one view of the game, and all they can do is move up and down the building, fixing things Bellamy has broken. 

First-person shooters can do whatever they want, and what they want is apparently to be stupid and repeatedly run into Bellamy. He's not sure how all the other soldiers are so good at staying out of the stupid FPS's way, but he's really not at their level, and if the aliens in the game don't kill him, Sergeant Miller probably will. And, honestly, he'll probably deserve it.

But, fuck it. He's come this far. He's going to win this stupid fucking game.

"Murphy!" the Sergeant yells, once the game's shut down for the night. Bellamy glances down and discovers that, yes, apparently the soldier whose uniform he stole at the bar is named Murphy. And apparently he's in trouble. "What the fuck was that?"

Miller is the only soldier in the game with an actual personality, the one whose job it is to handle the FPS. Given what his personality actually _is_ , it's kind of amazing he doesn't kill them in anger more often, but he's apparently programmed to be angry all the time but not murder the player. Which Bellamy can relate to.

"Sir?" he tries.

"What was that?" Miller snaps. "You're going to get the shooter killed! You _did_ get the shooter killed! You want to get us unplugged?"

"Sorry, sir," he says, staring at his feet. He doesn't really look like the generic soldiers in this game; Miller will notice something's up if he sees his face.

"Back to basics. Run the first level five times with the first-person shooter on AI. I don't want to see you back here until you're not a liability in the field. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," says Bellamy. It's a good thing he's already looking down, so Miller won't see his smile. "You won't, sir."

And it's true, of course; Miller's not going to see him back there. Bellamy's pretty sure he'll be able to run the game solo, no problem. He's still on track for rubbing his victory in Jasper's face.

It's gonna be great.

*

Maybe it says bad things about Clarke that she notices the gold coin before she notices the actual shipwreck it's next to. But she needs a coin, and she doesn't need a wrecked spaceship, so why wouldn't she prioritize? She doesn't know why someone crash-landed in her back yard, but that's not really her business. It's theirs.

Still, there aren't any spaceships in _Kandy Kingdom_ and they don't get a lot of visitors, so once she's pocketed the coin, she does go over to investigate the crash. If whoever's in there is hurt, she should probably help. She doesn't want anyone dying on her watch. Not when they won't come back.

Clarke knows there's a whole arcade out there, dozens of other games full of characters from all kinds of genres, but she doesn't really know anything about them. She's never actually met anyone from another game before, and she doesn't really know what to expect. 

He's unconscious, with tan skin, several shades darker than hers, and a tangle of dark curls on his head. He doesn't look like he's from a space game, given he's just dressed in a blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Very plain, really.

She pokes his shoulder, and then does it again, harder. "Hey. Wake up. Wake up."

He makes a noise, stirs, and looks up at her. 

Suddenly, he's not plain anymore. He's got dark eyes, almost black, a scar over his lip, and freckles sprinkled like cinnamon sugar over his face. Not plain in the slightest.

He's also scowling at her. "What are you?"

"What am I?"

He rubs one hand over his face. "Sorry, you've got--candy in your hair?"

"Great, not again." There's candy _everywhere_ ; it's harder to keep it off. She shakes the cotton candy out and cocks her head at him. "Where'd you come from?"

He pushes himself up out of his seat, and apparently that's more pressure than the ship can handle, because it starts to sink. The boy grabs her as he jumps out, and between the two of them, they manage to land on solid ground before the molasses swallows up his ship.

"What the fudge was that?" he asks, and scowls. "Did I just say _fudge_?"

"This is a family game. You can swear in your game?"

"Apparently. I only have two lines the audience can see. I think we predate profanity filters." He frowns. "Where did my ship go?"

"You crash-landed in molasses," she says. "You're lucky I found you when I did."

He looks at the dark brown pool, frowning. "Yeah, I guess. Uh, thanks."

"No problem. So, where did you come from?"

"Uh, _Monty the Mender_. By way of _Warzone: Earth_ , which is where I got the ship. This is that candy racing game, right? _Kandy Kingdom_? With two k's?"

"That's us." She cocks her head at him. "Are you Monty the Mender?"

"Nope. Break-It Bellamy."

"Break what?"

"Basically everything." He pats down his jeans and his shirt and then scrambles up, looking around wildly. "Sugar!" 

His scowl after the lack of profanity is even better than the lack of profanity itself. Clarke hides her smile. "What?"

"Where's my fudging medal?"

"Your what?"

"I got a medal in that stupid war game before I--"

"Stole a ship and crashed it into a molasses pit?"

"That wasn't actually what I was going for. It just kind of happened." He bites his lip, like he's thinking hard. "How dangerous is molasses?"

"You're really going to dive in there? For what, exactly?"

"I got a medal," he says, petulant. Clarke thinks he's a few years older than she is, in terms of design, but he looks like an irritated child right now, deprived of--candy, honestly. "Look, I need it, okay?"

"A medal?" she asks, trying to play it cool.

"A big, shiny gold coin that means I won something," he says, and there's enough weariness in his voice that it makes her flinch. Which is enough for him to figure it out. "You _ding dong_ ," he says, and she jumps out of the way when he makes a swipe for her bag. "I need that!"

"I need it more!"

"What do you need it for? Can't you just get one whenever you want? You're in a fudging racing game, don't you get prizes?"

"You swear way too much," Clarke says, jumping up into one of the candy-cane trees. She's gotten pretty good at running from people.

Of course, his name _is_ Break-It, so he just punches the tree, and it cracks. Clarke feels herself glitch right as she jumps again, and she aims herself toward a surviving tree, ends up going a little too far and landing hard on a branch, nearly losing her bag in the process.

"What the--"

"I don't need it for long!" Clarke says, scrambling to another branch before he can break down this tree. "Just for today."

"What do you need a medal for for a day?" he asks.

"If I stop to tell you, are you just going to demolish this tree, Break-It?"

"It's Bellamy. Break-It is more of a title." He watches her, cautious. "What do you need it for?"

"I need to enter the race. There's an ante. The racers pay from their winnings, and then winner gets the pot. But I've never been able to enter." Her fingers twitch on her bag. "But this--"

"If you don't win I don't get it back," he points out, crossing his arms over his chest. "And apparently you've never even raced before. So why exactly should I bet on you?"

"I've never entered before," she says, careful. It's also kind of true that she's never raced, but--when is she going to get another chance like this? "I need this," she says, and the ache in her voice is real. But she also thinks he might be kind of a softie. Underneath the irritability and the scowling.

She can see his jaw working, even from here. "I want to see you race first," he says.

"I can't before. There's only half an hour left to ante. But the race isn't until the end of the night, so--"

He huffs. "Where do you ante?"

It's not _yes_ , not exactly, but she lets herself smile anyway. "At the track. I'll show you after. Promise."

"Doesn't do me much good after. If you're bad, I already lost my medal."

"Thank you," she says, and means it.

He still doesn't look pleased, but when she starts walking, he falls into step with her instead of making a grab for her or her bag.

"I didn't get your name," he finally offers.

"Clarke."

"No candy pun? Really? Just Clarke?"

"Clarke Bar," she admits.

"Still. I was expecting something a little--cutesier. Princess Gumdrop or something."

"Princess Gumdrop?"

His ears go a little red. "Just a guess."

Clarke can't help a grin. "Nope. Just Clarke. And you're Bellamy."

"Yeah."

She offers her hand. "So, you give me your medal for the ante, and then I'll win it back. Deal?"

For a minute, he doesn't respond, but then he takes her hand, gentle, like he thinks he might break her fingers. It's probably something he has to worry about.

But his fingers are warm and rough and don't hurt at all. "Deal."

*

Bellamy doesn't get what this game is going for, seriously. Half of it looks like like a marshmallow vomited on it, and the other half is working this kind of bizarre hybrid medieval kingdom/gritty sci-if aesthetic, like it's trying to be a really _serious_ game about candy-themed go-karts. He's seen racing games come and go in the last twenty-five years, and there are plenty of settings that lend themselves to gritty, serious racing. None of them involve either candy or quasi-feudalism.

Well, okay. A couple involved quasi-fuedalism, but not like this.

"Seriously, do those guards have _spears_?" he mutters to Clarke. "What are they defending themselves against?"

He's not sure what to make of Clarke either. She's soft and pretty in a way he's not used to, and he honestly can't figure out what she _is_. She doesn't act like an NPC, and if she's trying to get into the race, she must theoretically be a playable character. But she's got a glitch, for one thing, occasionally winking out and reappearing a few feet away, and she's never been in the races before. He can't help wondering if he's messing up something in _her_ programming, if maybe she isn't supposed to be like this.

But if she wants to go beyond her programming, he can't help wanting to support that.

"They're spearmints," she says. "Obviously."

"You're acting like that makes it better. It doesn't." He glances at her, smiles when he sees there's cotton candy in her hair again. "So, explain this race thing to me. How does it work?"

"One of the hooks for the game is that there's a random selection of racers every day. It's the top nine from the Royal Rumble every night, and winner gets the ante pot. And then if you're one of the nine racers for the day, you can win more with the regular races. That's how they keep going. So I just have to get in once, and I'll be able to keep trying. But I've never had the ante to enter."

"And I'm the only person you could possibly borrow it from," he says, making himself sound more irritated than confused. But he's curious. She has to win this race to get the medal back, but if all she has to do normally is place in the top nine, it shouldn't be hard to get someone to front her one coin. She could make it back over the course of the day, if she's really any good.

"You wouldn't want more competition, would you?" she asks, her own voice sounding too light, to Bellamy's ear. Not that he's an expert. "Anyone who loaned me the ante might have me knock them out of the top nine."

"I guess," he agrees, but he's not totally sold. 

Not that it's any of his business. She's got to be good, or they'd let her race. So she'll win, he'll get his medal back, and he'll _definitely_ be a hero. Not only will he have gotten a medal, but he'll have helped out a damsel in distress. 

"Okay, um, cover me," says Clarke. She might be too competent to count as _in distress_.

"Cover you? What do you need cover for?"

Clarke glances at the stands. There's a woman there, maybe a year older than she is, who really is the entire game's weird aesthetic personified. She's all hard edges and intensity, wearing something that looks a little like armor, but with all this sparkly pink makeup smeared around her eyes, like she killed a unicorn and rubbed its blood on her face as a warning to others.

"The Commander doesn't want me signing up."

"The Commander? Seriously? That's the least _Kandy Kingdom_ name I've ever heard."

"Commander Cupcake. She usually just goes by Commander, though."

"Wow, I can't imagine why," he says. "Is it Commander Cupcake with a K? Or, like--gumdrops, if it's spelled with four k's, I'm fudging leaving."

"You really should watch your mouth," says Clarke, grinning.

"You should shut up. Why doesn't she want you to sign up?"

"We used to date," she says. "She thinks I'm going to get hurt."

"Well, your game is completely fudging weird, so sure, I'll buy that. How do I distract her, exactly?"

"You could start breaking up the place. That's kind of your thing, right?"

"Ha ha. That sounds like a great idea. Those spearmints look like serious business. If I didn't die in _Warzone: Earth_ , there's no way I'm dying in _Kandy Kingdom_. Sorry. Figure out something else."

"Just present yourself to her."

"I don't think I'm her type."

Clarke elbows him. "I meant tell her you're visiting. We don't really get many visitors, we kind of keep to ourselves. Tell her you're just passing through and you wanted to say hi."

"Why am I passing through?"

"Sprinkles, Bellamy, do I have to do all the work? Tell her the truth, I don't care. Maybe you just wanted some chocolate."

"I don't even like chocolate that much," he mutters. "Fine. I want the medal _and_ a coin when you win, okay?"

She surprises him by pecking him on the cheek; no one but Octavia has ever done that before. "Thanks. I'll see you once I've got the ante in."

And then he's got no option but to go and greet the commander.

The spearmint guards stop him before he's gone more than a few steps onto the track. Their uniforms are more sci-fi than he would have expected, given the Commander's vibe, but he's given up trying to figure out what genre this thing is going for. He can't wait to get home.

"Whoa," he says, holding up his hands. "I come in peace."

"Name," says the guard.

"Break-It Bellamy."

"Occupation?"

"Uh, Break-It Bellamy."

"What are you doing here?"

"Crash landing out of _Warzone: Earth_. Just making my way back out. This looked, uh--I thought I should introduce myself. I don't want to get stabbed, honestly. I like not getting stabbed."

The guard looks up at the Commander in the stands, and then turns her attention back to Bellamy. "What are you doing out of your game?"

"Is that not a thing for you guys? I'm out of my game every night. You should work on socializing."

"We have business during the night," says the Commander. She has her head cocked, regarding him. "Break-It Bellamy."

He refuses to be intimidated by a bunch of people he could possibly just _eat_ if he had to. At least some of them are made of candy. They might _all_ be made of candy. He has no way of knowing. "That's me."

"What were you doing in _Warzone: Earth_?" she asks. "That's not a popular vacation spot."

"I like to check out all the games. You guys were next on my list. Really."

"Mm," says the Commander. She doesn't seem impressed. "Cane?"

A uniformed peppermint man at the Commander's steps forward. "Commander?"

"Please escort Mr. Bellamy to the exit. We have--"

There's a ding from behind him, and everyone's attention snaps toward it. There's a board, already mostly filled with names, with the title _ROYAL RUMBLE_ at the top. The ding must signify another entry, because a new line, _#15: CLARKE BAR_ , appears on the bottom of the list as Bellamy watches.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Commander growls, and Bellamy almost thinks she's asking him. But when he turns back, she's glaring at the peppermint man. "What is _she_ doing in the race?"

"I assume she paid the ante," says the man.

"Why don't you go find out and _stop her_." The way she says it, it's neither a question nor a suggestion. It's dangerous.

Clarke wasn't kidding; the Commander really doesn't want her involved in this.

"You guys seem busy," he says, and offers a sunny smile when their attention shifts back to him. "I'll just show myself out. Don't worry, I remember the way."

Thankfully, Clarke has completely distracted them. The Commander manages a terse, "See that you do," and nods to the guards to escort him off the stands and back to the path.

"Straight down Licorice Lane, take a left when you hit Rocky Road, and that will take you out," one of them tells him.

"Thanks. Nice to visit. Good luck with your, uh, thing."

The guards exchange a look, and he can tell neither of them is excited about the prospect. Not that he blames them; the Commander is sending out more guards to sweep the area for Clarke, glaring and barking orders, and he's honestly kind of tempted to just give up the medal for lost and go home before the cake hits the blender.

But he's apparently picked his side, so he starts walking instead.

*

It's not hard to find Bellamy; his character design stands out, clearly _other_ , broader and stockier than the men of _Kandy Kingdom_ , and somewhat blockier. She kind of likes it, the slight lack of polish that comes from being from an older game, the way his walk is different from her own. It's nice, to be able to find him so easily.

She pulls her hood up and glances around to make sure Lexa didn't have him followed, but as she expected, her name appearing on the race board is a much bigger concern than some stranger wandering around, so she falls into step with him like it's no big deal.

"Okay, here's my question," he says, without greeting her. His tone is light and conversational, but Clarke still tenses. There are all sorts of things he could ask that she has no interest in answering. But she probably owes him. "If it's a kingdom," he continues, "why is the ruler a commander? Shouldn't you have a king? That's government 101."

It's such a relief of a question that she actually laughs. "We did. That's the plot of the game. There used to be a king and a queen, and now there's a succession crisis. That's what the races are for, if you play the story mode. The winner becomes the new ruler."

"Wow. That's an even worse form of government than a regular kingdom. Good job."

"Like your game's plot makes sense."

"There really isn't much of a plot. Developers bulldozed the stump I lived in to make a fancy condo building, so now I destroy it in vengeance for, you know. Bulldozing my stump. And then the building superintendent fixes it up and he's the hero."

Clarke frowns. "How are you the bad guy in this? They--" Her frown deepens. "Who lives in a stump?"

"I didn't _write_ the game."

"But seriously, you sound like the wronged party. They destroyed your home."

"Yeah, but they had a permit." He shrugs, and even though Clarke hasn't known him long, she can tell it's not really easy. "It's not a big deal. Just backstory."

"Still. That sucks. That's why you want a medal?"

"One of the NPCs said I couldn't do anything right. That I could never win anything. I figure I can maybe do one good thing, you know? My programming isn't _that_ limiting."

Clarke swallows hard. "Thank you. For loaning it to me."

"Yeah, about that. You still need to show me what you've got."

It's a reasonable request, made more difficult because Clarke doesn't have much. She's got a kart that's a lot worse than everyone else's and a dream, and she'll need a hell of a lot of luck to even finish the race, let alone win. 

Still, the factory level is locked, and it's not like she can just break in and--

"I need your help first."

He's immediately wary, which she absolutely deserves. "Didn't we already do this?"

"I might have stretched the truth a little."

"Hot fudge sundae with extra sprinkles," Bellamy grumbles. "What the fudge, Clarke? Seriously, just--what's your deal? I think you owe me that much."

"I'm a racer," she says. "I _know_ I'm a racer. But I'm a glitch too, so--probably I was supposed to be a playable character and I got scrapped. But I know I've got enough programming to _be_ playable. The Commander thinks it's too dangerous, that if I glitch in a race, we'll get unplugged, but--I can keep it under control."

Bellamy looks at her for a long minute. "It's really that important?" he finally asks. "My sister's game got unplugged. It's a shitty way to be. And if it's your fault, everyone's going to be pissed at _you_. Forever. Is it worth it?"

She lets out a relieved breath; he doesn't know. He's never met a glitch before. "It's worth it," she says.

There's another silence, but then he nods. "Okay. Where are we going?"

"The kart construction mini-game. It's locked, but--I'm guessing you don't have much trouble with locks, right?"

"Never tried, but I'm pretty sure I don't." He nods. "I'd say you need to give me more of your prize, but I'm starting to doubt I'm ever going to see any of it. So you just fudging owe me, okay?"

"I owe you," she agrees. "I really fudging owe you." She glances around, takes his arm and ducks off the road. "Come on. It's this way."

"If only we had a car or something."

She has to smile. "If only. But it's not far. It's a pretty small game, nothing is far."

"It feels huge to me," he says, soft and absent. When Clarke glances back, he's looking around with an expression she can't quite read, and she has a sudden tug of longing, the impossible wish to see his game. To make it better, somehow.

She can't, though, so she turns away again and says, "So, you have a sister?"

"Yup. From a spin-off game. _Monty the Mender_ was popular, but they wanted to appeal to girls, so they made _Outrageous Octavia_. It was a total flop, she's still bitter about it. But it was a really frothy game idea, so--" He scowls at Clarke. "Frothy? Really?"

"I didn't program the profanity filter. What was the game like?"

"It was just a bunch of mini-games that developers thought would appeal to girls, which O claims was a sign they knew nothing about girls. And given the game crashed and burned, I guess she was right. It probably would have done better if it was just an angry girl smashing things."

"So what does your sister do now?"

"She's got a boyfriend in Tapper, she mostly lives there. I see her after work."

"And she doesn't--" Clarke tries to figure out how to say it without being weird. "That's not enough?"

"Enough what?"

"I assume she thinks you're a good guy."

"She's my sister," he says, like this explains everything. Maybe it does. Clarke's backstory doesn't include a family, so she doesn't know what it would be like. It must show on her face, because Bellamy sighs. "She's the most important thing in the world to me, and nothing could ever change that. Nothing she could do. And that's how it is for her with me too. So--don't get me wrong, I'm really glad I have her. But it's different."

"You need someone to pick you," Clarke says, because that makes sense to her. She'd thought Lexa had, back when they first started dating, that Lexa didn't care that she was a glitch, that she didn't really fit in anywhere. But she'd never really seen _Clarke_ , not the way Clarke wanted to be seen.

There are kinds of love that aren't bad, but they aren't enough, not by themselves.

"Yeah," says Bellamy, soft. "Let's go with that." He clears his throat, awkward. "You used to date the Commander, huh? Did you just break up because of the racing stuff, or did you try to tell her that her makeup was a mistake and she dumped you?"

Clarke snorts. "It's thematic."

"What theme is that, exactly?"

"I don't. Bubblegum."

"I was going with unicorn slayer, but sure, that's cool too." He nudges his shoulder against hers. "Seriously, tell me the story. I'm bored and I can't look at your stupid game because the colors give me a fudging migraine."

"It was everything," says Clarke. "I felt like I wasn't--she said I was fine the way I was and it's not like I wasn't. But it didn't feel like enough. I can't just--" She looks at him. "I know it would suck to be the bad guy all the time. That's--I wouldn't want that. But I feel like I'm nothing most days, you know? I don't _have_ a role."

"And you couldn't just be a guard or--whatever that mint dude was?"

"Mint dude?"

"The guy hanging out with the Commander."

"Oh, yeah, Kandy Kane. He's the royal adviser."

"I'm going to regret asking this, but how many k's?"

"Two."

"I hate your game. But, fine, you don't want to be an adviser? Would you have to change your name to Klarke with a K?"

"Clarke already has a K."

"Smartie."

"I don't want to be an adviser," she says. "I want to do things. And if I'm in a racing game, what else am I going to do, if I'm not racing?"

"You can break stuff in basically any game," he says. "Just saying."

Clarke laughs. "Okay, yeah. That can be my backup plan."

"If you lose, the first thing I'll teach you is how to break into the winner's stuff to steal my medal back," says Bellamy, and Clarke manages a tight smile.

If she loses, she won't need to find another career. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Deal," she says instead. "Come on, we're almost there."

*

Bellamy's unabashedly excited to play a mini-game. _Monty the Mender_ was developed before mini-games were really a big thing, and even if they had one, it probably would have involved him getting beaten up, so he's just as glad, really. 

But this one sounds fun. Making a go-kart in a cake factory? That's the kind of thing he _never_ gets to do in his own game. 

"You know there's a picture of you on this keep out sign, right?" he asks Clarke.

"Why do you think it's locked?"

"Do they execute people in your game? I'm asking for a friend. Who doesn't want to get fudging murdered for your fifth-life crisis."

"I'll take full responsibility," she says.

"I'm not saying that's _definitely_ the least comforting thing you could have said, but I'm not convinced it's not. I don't feel like your ex is the _live and let live_ type. And if she kills me, I'm not coming back. So I will just run and leave you if I have to."

Clarke hums. "Yeah, you definitely should. Break the lock already."

The lock is small and cute, like most things in this game, and all Bellamy has to do is give it one quick yank and it falls apart in his fingers. It's hard to not feel--not _embarrassed_ , exactly, but the last thing he really wants pretty girls to think about him is that he destroys everything he touches. Even if it's kind of true. He doesn't _have_ to destroy things. He could not.

But Clarke doesn't look scared or even concerned; she's grinning. "That's awesome," she says. "Can I have the lock?"

"Uh, sure," he says, and drops the broken metal into her hand. Apparently she's cute _and_ thinks casual destruction of property is cool. If this doesn't completely explode on them, he's definitely going to ask if she wants to get a drink. Octavia would like her. "So, you know how this works?" he asks, following her through the gate to the factory. It's bright pink, but still with a kind of futuristic vibe that doesn't gel with the medieval look of the royal racetrack. "Also, you know your game is a weird anachronistic mess, right?"

"You know I don't make fun of your game, right? But yes, I know how this works."

"You've never been to my game. If you ever come, feel free to make fun of it as much as you want." The door to the factory is locked as well, and he crushes the knob in his hand without her having to ask. "You want this too?"

"Sure."

"You're into weird souvenirs," he remarks. 

"Don't judge, Bellamy."

Inside, the factory is fairly clinical, all steel and sharp edges. Clarke seems to know the way instinctively, and he has to wonder what programming she actually _has_. What was she supposed to be?

"Okay, so you have sixty seconds," she says. "It's pretty easy, I think. Just hit a few buttons."

Honestly, Bellamy didn't know it was possible for things to go so wrong in just one minute, and he's destroyed a lot of stuff in his life. It's just that when he hits a button, he really _hits_ it, and breaks it, and then he has to try to fix it, which gets him behind, and he breaks something else trying to catch up, and by the end of the game, the entire assembly line is a smoking wreck, and Clarke's kart is--really, really ugly. It's covered in frosting and sprinkles and weird metal balls that do not look like candy, but it's not like he's an expert. 

At least it has four wheels and a seat, and it doesn't fall apart when it rolls out. But, wow, Bellamy is not really good at this game. He's not sure it would have turned out uglier if he'd been trying to screw it up.

"Fudge," he says, but it's drowned out by Clarke's delighted whoop. When he looks over at her, she's grinning, the brightest thing he's ever seen, and his whole chest aches with it.

He's _doomed_. He doesn't even know if she's interested in men, let alone in _him_. But he really hopes so.

"This is awesome!" she enthuses, jumping into the driver's seat, looking at the monstrosity like it's something precious. "Come on, Bellamy, check this out!"

There isn't really a passenger seat, but there's room for him to get behind her, so he does, crouching down and leaning close so he can look over her shoulder. She smells like sugar and chocolate, and he's an _idiot_. He should have just let her keep the fudging medal and left. He could have gotten another one. _Warzone: Earth_ was pretty easy, except for the part where he accidentally fell into a ship and flew it out of the game at the end.

But no, he's here, destroying _Kandy Kingdom_ with a pretty glitch for increasingly less valid reasons.

"We should probably get out of here," he tells her. "That was loud."

"One sec," she says, hopping out the kart and running over to a row of colored frosting tubes. She looks like she's going to toss one at him, but thinks better of it, comes over and pushes it into his hands instead, and he feels a strange lump in his throat when he realizes she knew he'd probably crush it when he caught it. She doesn't say anything, doesn't make a big deal, just looks at the car with a proud smile. "Haven't you ever made anything before? You always sign your work."

"No, I've never made anything before," he admits, and she bumps her shoulder against his. 

"Well, take it from an artist. Sign your work."

She writes her own name in delicate script, and when he hesitates, she nudges him again. His own writing is blockier, shakier, but, as usual, if she notices, she doesn't seem to mind at all.

Maybe he should try to get used to it.

He's just finishing the _y_ in his name when an alarm starts blaring, and Clarke startles.

"I'll knock down the door, you start the car," he says.

She winces. "I don't know how to drive a real car."

"Candy-coated chocolate drops," says Bellamy. At least his profanity is always an exciting surprise. "What the fudge was your plan if I didn't help you?"

"I'll show you when we get out," she says. "Can you just--push?"

"The medal and _two_ coins," he grumbles.

"You're the best." It's so easy and absent, like she doesn't have to think about it. He fills up with pride. 

It's worth twenty gold coins, at least, but there's no way he's telling her that. Instead, he punches the wall open and jumps behind her in the kart. "Hold on," he says, and gets them the fudge out.

*

Until things went wrong with Lexa, Clarke lived in the castle, and it was fine, mostly. But it was the same problem she had with everything in her life; it felt empty, pointless, and _wrong_. Half the rooms were locked because there wasn't any need for them, no programming, just voids, and Clarke wandered around empty halls with nothing to do and nowhere to go until the races ended and Lexa and the others came back.

The mountain shouldn't be a better place to live, maybe, but it's _her_ place. She's worked hard on it, but she's never actually brought anyone over before. It's impossible not to be nervous about Bellamy's reaction. He'll probably think it's sad. The pathetic, never-finished level to go with the pathetic, never-finished racer.

Still, they have nowhere else to go.

"Between the lollipops!" she tells him. They need to get in before Lexa and her guards see where they went.

"You know murder/suicide here only kills me, right?" he asks, but, to his credit, he changes course and doesn't slow down.

"If I wanted you dead I would be making very different choices," she says. "Trust me, okay?"

"I'll find a way to haunt you."

He actually seems surprised when there's no destruction at their impact with the mountain, but Clarke guesses it's pretty rare for him to run into things without breaking them.

And then he stops running, looking around the cave with something that seems like--awe, maybe.

"Crackerjack," he breathes. "Where are we?"

She guesses it probably is an improvement for him, if the pastels outside really do give him a headache. The mountain is darker, maroons and browns. Maybe it feels more like home.

"Mount Wafer. I think it was supposed to be a bonus level, but they scrapped it. I had a lot of time to explore, that's how I found out there was still an entrance. It's nice, private, kind of--" She trails off when she sees him looking at the art wall, the one she's painted all over, and forces herself not to justify it. She does art. She _likes_ doing art.

"Did you do these?" he asks, leaning in to inspect the landscape she put up last week.

"Yeah."

"No wonder you know how to finish artwork. These are amazing."

She's glad he doesn't see her blush. "Thanks."

He straightens, turns his attention to her, critical. "How long before the race?"

"About ten hours? It's the last thing we do before the arcade opens."

"And you can't drive." His jaw works. "What was your actual plan?"

"You're going to be mad."

"I kind of figured."

She pulls out the kart she made, which, okay, it's _prettier_ than theirs, but not by much, and it hasn't got an actual engine. She was using her feet to power it. It wasn't _good_.

When he doesn't say anything for a long minute, self-consciousness sets in, and she says, "I wouldn't have to win, just come in the top nine. And then they'd let me into the factory, I could make a real car, and I'd trade some of my winnings for your medal."

"At what point do you stop lying to me?" he asks, but it's mild.

"That was my plan, I swear."

"So you just had a bad plan."

She bites her lip. She _should_ tell him. He clearly doesn't know a thing about glitches, and she should fill him in. But it's not _lying_ if she doesn't.

If everything goes well, he never has to know.

"I'm a really good racer, okay?"

"Who's never raced." He rubs his face. "What happens if you lose today?" Her horror must show all over her face, because he holds up his hands. " _Today_. Ten hours isn't that long, Clarke. If I could get another medal--"

"You'd get me another?" she asks, words almost tripping over each other. It's stupid, how much she isn't looking forward to him leaving. But--it's _nice_. Having him around.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. "I got one, right? I could get another," he says, and she throws her arms around his neck impulsively, hugging him tight. He's big and solid and perfect, even if it takes a second for him to hug back. "Uh, I guess that works for you," he says, awkward, and Clarke squeezes him once more before letting go.

"Sorry. Was that weird?"

He coughs; he's _blushing_. "No. People hug me all the time. Happens like every day."

"If I got another ante, I could do it again," she says. "I could do it tomorrow." She worries her lip. "Or the next day. Or--"

He grins. "Come on, I thought you were a natural."

"Only one way to find out. No reason to waste this one, right?"

And it turns out she was actually pretty much right about her skills. Being behind the wheel feels easy and familiar, like how it's supposed to be. It was never _right_ with the car she built, no engine humming under her, no _speed_. It takes a few tries to get it working right, but once she does, it's like the kart is part of her body, like everything's coming together. Even the glitch doesn't screw her up that much. She might not be able to use it, but she thinks she'll be able to control it.

She practices for a few hours, unable to stop; she can do it _today_. She's so ready.

It's only when she says, "This is awesome, right?" at the end of a great run that she realizes Bellamy has fallen asleep. Not even in the _bed_ , just on the ground, head resting on his arms. There are curls falling over his forehead, and he's even smiling a little.

Clarke doesn't stare for _that_ long. Not really. He's just nice to look at. And it's actually _painful_ , thinking about what his life must be like. He's such a good guy, and somehow he's stuck in a game where all he does is break things. If she could leave here, she'd skip the race and go give all his NPCs a piece of her mind, for ever making him feel like he needed a stupid _medal_. Like that shiny coin really proved anything they shouldn't already know.

But she can't go, so she shakes his shoulder instead, feels her heart stop at the sight of his slow, easy smile.

"You fell asleep," she manages.

He yawns hugely. "Yeah, well, I had a weird day. Sorry, did you need me?"

"No, I just--you can sleep in the bed. We've got a few hours left, a nap isn't a bad idea. But I'm not tired yet."

"But you will be. I don't need the bed. You can take it."

"It's not much of a bed, but I'm pretty sure we'd both fit," she says. 

"It's not like I usually sleep in a bed," he grumbles, like this will make her feel _better_. Still, he doesn't object as she pulls him up by the arm and presses him gently into her small cot. It really _isn't_ very nice, but he doesn't seem to notice, just curls back up and goes back to sleep at once.

She should tell him what she's risking. It's wrong _not_ to tell him. But she can do it when he wakes up. Before the race. He'll be pissed, but--either she'll be able to make it up to him, or she won't.

He's gone above and beyond, though, no matter what happens. Even if she can't follow him to his game and give everyone else there a piece of her mind, she can do _something_.

She finds her bag, grabs the lock and the doorknob from the factory, and gets to work.

*

Bellamy wakes up with Clarke tangled in his arms, which is a really, really new thing for him. He's in a bed with a pretty girl, and if he thought Jasper would believe him, he wouldn't even care about getting his medal back. He could just go home and brag about this for the rest of his life.

But it's really way too outlandish for Jasper to buy it without proof. He doesn't even really believe it's happening.

She makes a soft, unhappy noise when he tries to move, and her fingers bunch in his shirt, like getting up wasn't unappealing enough before.

Still, he really _needs_ to get up at some point. He doesn't feel like he's gotten to sleep for that long, but they didn't have so long to spare in the first place. He has stuff to do. They need to make sure Clarke's ready for the race, maybe practice a little more. It would be nice if she won, and he could go home with his medal and the knowledge that he _helped_ , that he made a difference. That he's more than just a mindless wrecking machine.

But it can't be time for the race yet.

He repositions so he's on his back and Clarke is curled around his chest and dozes for a while, until an alarm goes off and Clarke stirs awake on top of him. He has no idea what he's supposed to do in this situation, but she apparently has no such hesitations; she stretches, pats his chest, and rolls off him.

Bellamy, meanwhile, still has to lie in her bed in stunned disbelief for a minute before he gets up himself.

"When's the race?" he asks.

"Three hours. You can--" She worries her lip. "I think I'm probably good. You don't have to stay. It's not like--"

He catches her wrist; she's not looking at him, and it's weird. It's not like he could have done anything to screw up. He was _asleep_. "Hey," he says, gentle. She looks up, eyes wide and blue, and he gives her a smile. "I want to be here, Clarke."

By some miracle, it's actually the right thing to say, because she relaxes and smiles. "It's just going to be boring, waiting around," she admits, and he laughs.

"I live in a dump, it's hard to be more boring than a dump. You want to teach me to drive?"

There isn't a lot of competition for the best day of Bellamy's life, but this one is absolutely in contention. He wrecks Clarke's old kart in under thirty seconds, but instead of giving up on the whole endeavor as hopeless, she just says, "Okay, good thing we tried that first," and he somehow _doesn't_ wreck her real car, because she just talks him through it, slow and easy.

He manages a full run of the Mount Wafer course without hitting _anything_ , and he even remembers to get out of the kart before he sweeps her up in his arms and twirls her around.

She just laughs. "Skittles, you didn't even go _fast_ ," she teases. "I could have beat you in the pedal car. The _broken_ pedal car. I didn't know karts could go that slowly."

"Shut up," he says. He can't stop smiling. "I didn't hit _anything_."

"Including the gas pedal."

He tries to glare at her, but she's grinning up at him, and he realizes how close they are, that his arms are still around her, that it would be so stupidly _easy_ to just lean in and--

He wets his lips and her eyes flutter, and he's about to lean in when she glitches out of his arms.

"We need to get ready for the race," she says, but it's apologetic. He thinks there's genuine regret there. "Not that I don't want you to hang around for another day, but--"

"Yeah," he says, voice thick. "I have to get back." Someone's probably noticed he's gone. Someone might have even cared. "I don't have to never visit, though. I assume the Commander wouldn't have me killed just for hanging out. Or you could come see my game. Or, scratch that. Come see Tapper, meet my sister. It's a lot more fun that my game."

She looks away. "Yeah, maybe." Her hand finds his, and she squeezes. "I want to race first, though."

It's not until they're taking the kart out that he thinks to ask, "I'm not going to get murdered, am I?" 

"Did you know you talk about getting murdered a lot?" she asks. "Is there a therapist game you could talk to?"

"I'm just saying, I'm pretty sure if your ex-girlfriend figures out why I'm still here, she's going to be pissed."

"You're bigger than she is."

"I think she's better armed."

Clarke pats her pockets, frowning. "No one is going to kill you. And if they try, break everything and run."

"You're still the least reassuring person I've ever met."

"I forgot something," she says, ignoring him. "One sec."

The terrain of _Kandy Kingdom_ is just as brain-melting as before, and he already misses the warmth and darkness of Clarke's home. He leans back against one of the wafer boulders near the kart, closing his eyes against the neon pastel overload. Maybe he _should_ go home. But if Clarke wins, he wants to be here. Even if she loses, he wants to be here. Whatever happens, he's going to have her back.

"I thought you must still be here. No one saw you leave," someone says, and his eyes snap open. The Commander is standing by her own kart, looking softer than last time he saw her. Her face is clear an her hair is down; she looks young and a little lost, and it puts him on edge. "I have no intention of hurting you. I'm here to help."

"Help?"

She reaches into her sleeve and extracts his medal, letting it dangle on the blue ribbon. It's not as impressive as he remembered, really; it's just a shiny piece of metal.

"I was trying to figure out where Clarke could have gotten the ante. And what might have brought you here. This is yours, I assume."

"And?"

"I assume you want it back. You're betting on the wrong racer."

"I think you're missing what makes gambling exciting," he says, crossing his arms. "Put the medal back. It's her ante."

"Did she tell you what's at stake?"

"She's not going to glitch you out of business," he says. "She's probably going to be more popular than you, but you'll live."

The Commander's voice is kind; it makes his hair stand on end. "So she didn't tell you."

"She told me."

"She told you she'll die?"

His whole body goes cold. "What?"

"She's a glitch. Of course I'm concerned about the future of _Kandy Kingdom_ , but--I'm more concerned about her. Glitches can't leave their games. If we're unplugged, the rest of us can leave. She can't."

"You're not going to get unplugged," he says, but his voice falters. Clarke _can't_ leave the game. It makes sense, honestly. Explains some things.

"But if she wins, we might. And if she loses, well. Do you know what happens to a glitch who dies in its own game?"

"Why would she die? She's losing, not--"

"Many of the racers are driven off the track and fall, or are hit by tricks and traps. Character death isn't common, but it's not unheard of. Especially not for an inexperienced racer."

"What is _wrong_ with this game?" he mutters.

"Glitches are a mistake," says the Commander. Her voice is still gentle, like she's not talking about _Clarke_. Someone she must have loved. "Stray, unintended firings of unfinished code. If Clarke dies, there's no guarantee she'll come back. Most glitches don't. And if she wins, she'll be racing all day, glitching, putting herself and all of the rest of us in danger. If Clarke races, I have to do what's best for my game and its characters. We will all have to try and destroy her. Every time she races."

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, finally settles on, "And she knows that."

"She knows." She raises her chin and offers the medal. "This is what you want. It's yours, if you'll help me save her."

It's too much to really deal with, so he asks the only question he can manage. "How?"

*

The medal is pretty ugly, if Clarke's honest. It's dull gray with almost no shine to it, and her metalworking ability is pretty minimal. She has a forge she made with the cola and breath mints that would have been the gimmick for this level, if it had actually been put in the game, and she used it some to make parts for her kart, but that's the extent of her experience. This medal mostly looks like a lock and a doorknob fused together badly and slightly reshaped, but she thinks Bellamy will get the general idea.

It's cooled down and looking as good as it ever will, so she puts it on a ribbon and shoves it in her bag. It's the best she can do for thanks. She'll give it to him, tell him what might happen in the race, and, if he doesn't leave as soon as he finds out what she's planning, try to get a kiss for luck.

She really should have given him the kiss before. He was totally _going to_ kiss her; she could have gone back after she glitched. He wouldn't have minded.

"Sorry!" she says. He's leaning against the car, arms crossed, glaring at the landscape. It's cute, how much he hates bright colors. "Look, um--I don't think I've really told you how grateful I am. And I'm going to get you your medal if there's any--I'm not going to stop trying until I get it back, but--"

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" he snaps, and her speech goes off the rails at the unexpected harshness in his tone.

"No, I just--I made you this," she says, flustered. His face doesn't really soften when she holds the medal out, but he at least looks more confused than angry. "You're my hero, okay?"

She can't read his expression at all as he stares at it; if she's honest, it hurts. She was hoping he'd be happy. That he'd get what she was going for, even if she didn't do a great job.

"I know it's not as nice as the one you loaned me, but--"

"Licorice sticks, Clarke, it's not--" He actually _growls_. "Do you know how fudging hard it is to be fudging angry when I can't fudging swear?"

"If I'd known it was going to upset you I wouldn't have made it!"

"Hot fudge sundaes, Clarke, that's not why I'm angry!" His jaw works, and Clarke sees, suddenly, a flash of blue at his neck, too familiar. His _real_ medal.

"You talked to her," she says, stomach plummeting, because--of course. Lexa could have figured it out. She knew Bellamy was here, she could have looked at the prize pool, and she would have figured it out. "She told you."

"Seriously, Clarke. At what point do you stop lying to me?"

"I was going to," she says. "I didn't--I was going to tell you. Before the race."

"And you're still going to do it. They're going to try to _kill you_ , Clarke."

"What else am I supposed to do? You risked your life to get that medal, right? I might not have been to _Warzone: Earth_ , but I'm pretty sure it's not exactly a safe place, and if you died there, you'd be _gone_. You don't get to make this choice for me, Bellamy. Not any more than she does."

"You don't get to do this and not tell me," he says. "You don't get to--I _helped_ , Clarke. If you--if something happens to you--" He scrubs his hand through his hair, all rough agitation. "That's on me too. I can't--please. Don't."

"Don't ask me that. I can't--I can't even _take a break_ , Bellamy. I'm here, all the time, with _nothing_. I'm sure it sucks being the bad guy, I hate everyone in your stupid game but all I've got is this one thing and no one will even--" She rubs both hands over her face. "I have to. I'm not going to lose."

"And if they unplug your game, what do you do?"

"That's my problem!"

He looks at her, and her heart feels like it's cracked open, but that almost doesn't matter. This is all she can do. This is the only way. 

"Please," he says again, and Clarke shakes her head, can't stop shaking her head.

"I have to." 

He nods just once, jaw tight, and turns to the kart. "Then--you're not doing it with my help."

It takes him no time at all, of course. After all that effort not to break it when he was driving, he hits the kart twice, and it's beyond her ability to save. And then he hits it again, for good measure.

"If you want to kill yourself, you can do it without me," he tells her. 

Her eyes blur with tears. "Yeah, you got what you want, so who cares about me, right?"

His eyes flash. "That's not fair. Of course I--I can't care about you and just let you--"

"I was wrong about you," she says. It hurts _so much_ , this abrupt hopelessness, and she wants to hurt him back. She doesn't know what else to _do_. This was her shot. She's never going to get a chance like this again. She's never going to come close. "You should just go back to being the bad guy."

She doesn't know exactly when he leaves; she just stays there, on the ground next to her kart, hugging her knees, until the guards come to take her away.

"I didn't want it to be this way," Lexa tells her.

"Yeah, thanks," says Clarke, not bothering to look at her either. "That really helps."

*

Bellamy hasn't actually been gone that long. Just because he feels like his whole life got turned inside out and then ripped apart, it doesn't mean that much has actually _happened_ here. He was gone for two days. He's home, he's proved Jasper wrong, he's got a medal.

He's got two medals.

 _Fuck_.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," he mutters, kicking a stone. It flies off and destroys a tree, because of course it does. Because this is what he _does_. He breaks things. And the one time he tried to do something _right_ \--and that's not the medal, fuck the medal, the medal was for _him_ , it didn't make him good--he couldn't even do that right.

What was he supposed to do? Let her get herself killed? Know that he _helped_?

The condo building is dark when he gets to it, except for the penthouse, which still has its lights on. Everything feels quiet and eerie, and it is like he was gone for a long time, after all. Like everything else has changed along with him.

It's only his second time even _being_ in the condo building, which is really fucked up, if you think about it. Twenty-five years, and no one ever asked him inside.

Clarke let him sleep in her _bed_ ; her medal on his neck is the heaviest thing he can imagine.

Jasper is turning off the light when Bellamy gets to the penthouse.

"Oh, _now_ you come back," he says, and Bellamy sees red.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You _weren't here_!"

Bellamy has had a shitty day, and he only just regained the ability to swear at his usual level, so he's not really interested in cutting Jasper any fucking slack here. "You told me to leave! You told me no one fucking wanted me here and I'd never do anything right. You told me to get the fuck out, so you don't get to--" He fumbles, finds the medal--the gold one, the one Jasper would care about--and shoves it at him. "There. I got the medal. That's where I went. I told you, I could get one any time I want. This is on you."

Jasper looks down at the gold against his chest, shakes his head. "God, you don't have a fucking _clue_ , do you? Look out the window, Bellamy. No one _cares_. You left, and the game didn't work. So, congratulations, I guess. You got a medal, and you destroyed our lives. You're important." He shoves the medal back at Bellamy. "Have fun with the penthouse for the night. We're getting unplugged tomorrow."

Bellamy doesn't punch him, mostly because, at this point, why even bother? Everything is his fucking fault. He has screwed up not only his life, but his--Clarke's life, and apparently his _entire game_.

Truly, there's no one in the universe as good at breaking shit as he is.

The penthouse is large and clean, all smooth wood and huge windows, so much more room than Jasper needs. Jasper is like half his size, and he's got so much space, and no view at all. It doesn't feel like a view without windows. 

Across the expanse of grass in front of the windows, he can see the orange sign on the screen, and past it the pink casing of _Kandy Kingdom_. It's so strange to think he can see her game from here, that it's his _view_. He'd never given it any thought, but there it is, the same garish title, the same--

The same girl on the side, a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, with cotton candy in her wavy hair, a girl who looks too serious for her game, because her game doesn't have a real genre, and she's so stupidly determined about _everything_.

But it's _her game_. She's _on the fucking console_. There's no way Clarke's going away if she dies; she has to come back, because she's supposed to be there. She _is_ a racer.

She's the hero.

He's running before he even realizes he's doing it, feet pounding down the stairs, to the train, out of his game and back where he _should_ be.

Of course, once he gets there, he doesn't actually have a plan, other than finding Clarke and--well, probably the mini-game is still out of commission, but he can tell her what he saw, they can try to figure out what it means, maybe beat one of the other kids up and take their kart, and--well, he's probably going to have to grovel in there somewhere, but he can do that. He can make this _right_.

He can be the hero too.

When he gets to Mount Wafer, he finds the peppermint man, Kandy Kane, cleaning up the ruins of Clarke's kart. Which is convenient.

He yanks the little guy up and grins at him. "Awesome, I've got questions. You better have some answers."

*

Monty is not having the best day.

In fact, if he's honest, he thinks this might be the worst day he's ever had. He doesn't think it's possible for things to go more wrong.

He and Bellamy have never really been friends, of course. There are plenty of games where the characters are friends, but he thinks of that as a newer thing. Or a thing for games where there's not so much of a Good Guy/Bad Guy thing. Monty's the Good Guy, and he likes Bellamy, he just--he didn't think Bellamy _wanted_ to be friends. He would have been, if he'd known. But Monty's always had his own thing going, and he foolishly thought that Bellamy did too.

But that was stupid because who _would_ Bellamy have, aside from Octavia? And even Monty knew that Bellamy didn't even see her that often.

So Bellamy leaving was the first thing, but Monty managed to track him to _Warzone: Earth_ , was feeling pretty good about fixing this too. 

And that's when he met Sergeant Nathan Miller.

Monty has never really felt like he's missing out, not having a boyfriend. He's a busy guy. Even when Bellamy isn't busting up the place, Monty's tenants are very _needy_. And he likes that, mostly. It's nice to feel like he has a purpose

But Nathan Miller. Nathan Miller makes him want to make time for a non-professional life. 

And it just made sense to team up, since they both wanted to find Bellamy anyway--Monty to bring him home, and Miller to "kick his goddamn ass and get our medal back, jesus christ, we need that medal, it's for the _player_ , not some two-bit villain." Monty nearly pointed out that they were actually _sixteen-bit_ , but then he felt kind of awkward, because Miller has, like, 32678-bits and flawless HD eyelashes.

It's a problem.

So they ended up in _Kandy Kingdom_ , and it would probably be a nice place to visit with Miller, honestly, under better circumstances. Granted Miller seemed to want to shoot everything, but if that impulse could be reigned in, it would be a pleasant vacation spot.

Also if he hadn't somehow ended up upsetting Miller (with a _simple compliment_ ), getting thrown out of his spaceship, and put into candy jail. That also put a damper on his day. He can't break out, his game is going to get unplugged, he has no idea where Bellamy is, no idea what Miller is doing, and no practical skills.

All he can do is fix things, and he has no way of fixing _this_.

Luckily, just when he's about to lose all hope for the first time in his entire existence, the wall breaks open. Bellamy blinks at him from a cloud of rubble and then raises his hand in greeting. "Oh, hey."

It's not actually new, to be happy to see Bellamy. Monty's always kind of happy to see him, because without Bellamy, his life doesn't have much meaning. And he thought Bellamy knew that, but apparently he doesn't.

So, naturally, Monty throws himself into Bellamy's arms with a relieved, "Oh thank goodness!"

"I'm getting a lot of hugs today," Bellamy observes, and pats his back, a little awkwardly. "Hi."

"You came to rescue me!"

"Uh, sure. Well, like, half."

"Half?"

"Half to save you." He clears his throat. "There's, uh. There's this girl."

That gets Monty's attention. "This is about a _girl_? You left our game, got us put out of order, all for a _girl_?"

"No, that was--look, it's not like--"

"I'll tell you what it's like," Monty says, because he doesn't have anyone else to yell at right now. "Do you know what I've been through today, Bellamy?"

"Oh fudgsicles," he mutters, which--at least he's cleaned up his language. "What _you've_ been through? Can this--"

"We were put out of order, I had to run around Game Central Station trying to find any _trace_ of you, met the most amazing gentleman in _Warzone: Earth_ \--"

"What, so you get to meet a guy and I can't meet a girl?"

Monty ignores him. "And then we crash land here, fight our way through all kinds of candy traps--"

"It's _kandy_. With a k."

"And then he rejected me and threw me away! Do you know what that's like?"

"You literally throw me off a roof any time anyone wins our game. I have some experience with it, yeah. And, seriously, I've had enough of people who didn't want me around in the first place yelling at me for leaving, so just fudging save it, okay?"

Monty pauses, really looks at Bellamy. He looks wrung out and heartbroken and angry, and this is bigger than just some girl. Of course it is. Because Jasper told Bellamy to leave; Monty heard him. They all heard him. And now they're all angry at him for listening. They made him feel like he wasn't wanted, and when he took them at their word, they got _mad_.

Bellamy runs his hand through his hair and huffs out an annoyed breath before Monty can say anything. "Whatever, I don't even care. You can yell at me later if you want. But we're on a time limit, so--" He dumps the can he's holding in front of Monty, and Monty stares at the broken pile of cookies and candy. "This was a go-kart. Can you fix it?"

"Magic hammer," says Monty, pulling it out and twirling it. "I can fix anything. And--I'm sorry. For yelling. You're right. It was unfair." 

Bellamy looks genuinely alarmed. "Uh. Thanks?"

He grins. "Now, tell me about the girl."

"She's here too," he says. "As soon as we get this fixed, we're gonna go get her." He wets his lips. "If she won't talk to me, tell her she's not a mistake, okay? She's on the side of the console, she's supposed to be here."

"This is going take a little while," says Monty. He has absolutely no idea what Bellamy is talking about. "Why don't you start at the beginning? So I can really explain to her."

Bellamy sits down next to him, passing him pieces to put together. "So, Jasper got me thinking, when he said I could never win a medal."

*

Clarke assumes at some point Lexa will let her out of the prison. She can't just leave her here _forever_. Bellamy had his medal, so her ante isn't in the pot anymore. Maybe she couldn't race if she tried. He's not coming back, and no one else will ever give her a coin, so maybe she can be--not _free_ , but at least confined to the palace. For her own protection. Locked in prison for her own protection seems like a lot. It's not like she _wanted_ to get killed, she was just willing to take some risks.

They were _her risks_. And now--

She tries to glitch, to actually _use_ it, but apparently whatever they've got her locked up in really does keep her in place, just like Lexa said it would.

She's alone and she's stuck and she's going to rot in here. She's going to--

The door bursts open, and there's Bellamy, with this expression of wary optimism, like he's broken down a lot of doors looking for her and doesn't want to get his hopes up too high that he finally got the right one.

His relief at seeing her is so bright and warm that her resentment almost melts. She's still angry, but--he's happy to see her, so he's forgiven her. She can forgive him too. She gets it. She knows she messed things up.

"Hey," he says. "I, uh--" He looks like he's at a total loss, so he finally just steps out of the doorway. There's a guy behind him, and--her _kart_. Their kart. Perfect as always, all in one piece. "I'm sorry. You were right, you're a racer, and you need to race."

She swallows. "I'm sorry too. I should have--I didn't tell you because I didn't really know you, and then I didn't because I _did_. I knew you wouldn't--" She swallows. "I didn't want to hurt you, but I needed to do it, and I didn't want to put that on you. But--I'm sorry. It wasn't fair, and I can say I was going to tell you, but--I really wasn't looking for it."

She sees tension drop from his shoulders, and she hates that he really thought she wasn't going to what? Apologize too? Forgive him? She'll figure it out later. 

They've got other stuff to do now.

He still approaches slowly, like she might be tricking him. "Okay, so--I'm gonna get you out, and then you need to race."

The chains come apart in his hands like they're made of spun sugar, and he breaks the harness on her. He's so close and all she wants to do is wrap her arms around him, but all her pent-up glitching comes out instead, and she ends up flickering across the room and crashing into the wall.

He's there to help her up, though, and she throws her arms around him instead of taking the hand he offers. She'd been thinking she'd never see _him_ again, and it hurt so much more than she expected, even though she was still pissed too.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I knew what the kart meant to you, but I--I couldn't."

"I know. I'm sorry too. You can stop apologizing. You fixed yours."

"I'm not going to lose you," he says, and he sounds so _sure_. He squeezes her once more and then pulls away, tugging her toward the kart. "Uh, this is Monty," he adds, jerking his head toward the other guy.

"The Mender?"

"Yeah, apparently I ruined everyone's life today."

She squeezes his fingers. "Now I don't feel special anymore."

He laughs and helps her into the kart. "Sorry. He's the one who actually did the fixing too. I just broke him out. Monty, this is Clarke. You want to come to the race?"

"Of course."

"What about Lexa?" she asks, settling in behind the wheel, Monty and Bellamy behind her, Bellamy's hand warm on her shoulder. It feels _right_.

"Bellamy's not going to Lexa," Monty says.

"We're all going to Lexa," Clarke says. "She's at the race. I assume she's still planning to try to kill me."

Bellamy's fingers tense on her shoulder, and there's the kind of silence that feels very pointed as she starts the car and gets them out of the prison.

"Lexa is trying to kill you," he says, slow.

"Or stop me, yeah. But--you know what she said she'd do."

What _the Commander_ said she'd do."

"Yeah. Lexa." She glances back at him, frowns at his expression. "I didn't call her _Commander_ when we were dating."

Another pause, and then Monty says, with feeling, "Oh _fiddlesticks_."

"What?" she asks. "Seriously, Bellamy."

"Don't stop driving, okay?" says Bellamy. "I'll explain, but you have to get to that race. She's never left her game," he adds, presumably to Monty. "She wouldn't know."

"Know _what_?" 

"Honestly, it makes a lot of sense," Bellamy says, fingers tensing on her shoulder. "So, um--Lexa. We know Lexa."

"She was here when the arcade opened, like we were," Monty adds. "What was the game?"

" _Survival of the Fittest_. It was kind of a racing game, but everyone was on horses and had swords. It was my sister's favorite, she always used to hang out there. But, uh--they got some new racing games, with cars, and _Survival of the Fittest_ stopped being popular, ended up getting unplugged. Pretty normal. Like--it's rough, but it happens."

"But Lexa was furious. She said the new racing games were--too easy."

Bellamy snorts. "What's the point of a racing game without a sword?"

"She ended up trying to prove she could win no matter what, so the games started--" She doesn't really know Monty that well, but she can tell he's trying to find a polite way to explain. "What would you think if you were a player, racing along in your car, and a girl on a horse showed up and slashed your tires?"

"She tried to take over every new racing game that showed up," Bellamy says flatly. "We thought she got unplugged with the last game she broke into, but--I guess she just got smarter about it. She's not supposed to be the main character of this game, Clarke. You are."

Clarke's heart stops. "I'm a glitch," she says. "They scrapped me."

"I talked to that peppermint dude."

"Kandy Kane."

"I'm never calling him that. He didn't know the details, or about Lexa, but he knew that if you ever crossed the finish line, the game would reset. You're on the console, Clarke. I saw you. I didn't know why the Commander would have done what she did, but--Lexa, yeah. That's obvious."

"Fudge," says Clarke, soft. "I'm--not a glitch."

"I still don't know what happens if you die before you reset the game, so--don't, okay?"

She has to laugh. "Good pep talk, Bellamy."

"You don't have to win, just cross, so--"

"So I'm going to win."

He squeezes her shoulder. "That's my girl."

The race has already started, and she doesn't see her name on the board. "You have the medal, so maybe--"

He pulls it off and offers it to her. "So ante it again."

"Signups are over. It wouldn't help."

"Why would she have locked you up if you couldn't race?" Monty offers, and Clarke nods.

"Good point, yeah. Okay. I might as well start, right?"

"Right," she agrees, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Yeah. I'm already behind."

Bellamy and Monty get off the kart, and Bellamy lingers, hands in his pockets. "Be careful," he finally offers, and Clarke grabs his shirt and tugs him down to finally kiss him.

It doesn't last long. It _can't_. She needs to go. But he still tangles his hand in her hair and kisses back, fast and sharp, a promise. 

"For luck," she tells him, and his grin is wide and crooked.

"Yeah," he says. "Good luck, Clarke."

*

Nathan Miller is having the _worst_ day.

They didn't manage to get a single FPS through with this _Break-It Bellamy_ trying to screw everyone over, and then he stole the _Hero_ medal, which is the culmination of the _entire game_. Without every medal, the player can't get the best ending of the game, and Miller's going to get it back if he has to destroy this entire game to do it.

And then there's _Monty_.

He shouldn't have let the guy come along in the first place, because what good was a _handyman_ going to do? But he had direct experience with the enemy, which can be invaluable, and, well--he really _wanted_ to come. He was very earnest. And--cute.

Miller shoots a gumdrop bush, just because he can.

He's no closer to finding the medal, no closer to finding Break-It Bellamy, and there's not much time before the arcade opens and he has to go back, empty-handed, to an unwinnable game. 

At least he finally found _people_. There's a race that's just started, and he assumes at some point it will end, and he can start asking them what happened to this Bellamy guy. Anyone who causes that much destruction wherever he goes couldn't have been subtle. And then he'll find Monty. It would be unfair of him, to just leave the guy.

He shoots another bush. Maybe he'll just shoot bushes until someone shows up and tells him to stop.

Amazingly, it doesn't take long. Even more amazingly, the person who shows up is _Monty_. And he looks thrilled, like Miller didn't freak out and shove him out of a spaceship just for calling him a _swell gentleman_.

It's not Miller's fault that's what Bryan used to call him, and it's not Monty's fault he didn't know that. It's no one's fault that Miller was programmed with a stupid, tragic backstory to motivate him. It's kind of a stupid cliche, and it doesn't even come up _in the game_ , so honestly, Miller doesn't get the point of the whole thing.

But it still _hurts_. Fudge programming.

Oh, and he can't _swear_. Worst day ever.

"Miller!" says Monty, voice as delighted as his face. "I found Bellamy!"

"You what?" Miller asks.

"I found you," someone else says, absent, and when Miller follows Monty to the racetrack, there's a guy who must be Bellamy, intently watching the leader board. "Thank fudging gingerbread," he adds. "She's in last place, but she's on there."

Miller lifts his gun and cocks it. "Break-It Bellamy--"

"Whoa!" says Monty. "Miller!"

That finally gets Bellamy's attention, and he raises his hands slowly. "Uh," he says. "What?"

"Where's the medal?"

Bellamy looks blank. "The medal?"

"You stole a medal from us."

"Oh, this?" he asks. He pulls the Hero Medal out of his pocket and tosses it to Miller. "All yours."

Miller drops the gun and only barely manages to catch it in time. It's a little scuffed and worse for wear, but none of the players are going to notice that. "That's it?" he asks. If Miller had broken into another game and destroyed ten levels just to get to a medal, he wouldn't give it up so easily.

He shrugs. "It's just a medal. I got a better one."

There's a loud noise from the screen showing the race, and everyone's attention snaps there.

"Someone _turned around_ ," Bellamy says, sounding furious. "That's how much they want to take her out." His jaw works, and he glances at Monty. "If they're cheating, she can cheat too, right?"

"What are you going to say if I say yes?" Monty asks, sounding wary.

Bellamy grins. "What do I ever do? I'm gonna wreck it."

Monty sighs. "If I say you shouldn't, will you listen to me?"

"Nope." He salutes, or thinks he does. His grasp of military protocol is non-existent. "Nice to see you again, Sergeant."

"Don't die!" says Monty. "If you die, I don't have a game either."

"I'm not gonna die," Bellamy says, with a dismissive roll of his eyes. "We've got this." He glances at Miller. "Can I borrow your board?"

Miller glances down at the hoverboard by his feet. "Are you going to break it?"

"Probably."

Truthfully, Miller could leave, but at this point, he's really curious. Apparently while he and Monty were trying to find Bellamy, there was a whole different plot going on, and he kind of wants to catch up. "Sure," he says, hands it over and watches Bellamy fiddle for a second before he gets it working and takes off. "Seriously, what's going on right now?"

"It's complicated."

"The arcade doesn't open for a while. I'm curious." He pauses, but it seems important. "I'm sorry I threw you out."

"I'm sorry for--whatever I did."

Miller lets his mouth quirk. "Just reminded me of someone. So, what's your bad guy doing?"

"Not being a bad guy," says Monty, with fondness. "He's not on the clock right now. So this is just--Bellamy."

Apparently he missed some character development. But he's got his medal back and assuming Bellamy doesn't die in some sort of overly intense, candy-based car chase, he'll have time to catch up.

How is this game weirder and more violent than his right now? Miller's almost insulted. They need to step it up.

Miller watches the screen. Being Bellamy apparently involves punching a go-kart and winning. Being Bellamy might be pretty cool. "What's his plan?"

"His girlfriend got her game stolen," says Monty. "Literally. And now they're trying to kill her so she won't get it back."

"Who cares? It's her game. She'll just come back."

"Lexa ripped her out of it, it sounds like," Monty says. "She messed with the _code_. I've never seen anything this complicated before. We don't really know what would happen to Clarke. Bellamy's not going to risk it."

"But if he dies--"

"How do you think I'd do in _Warzone: Earth_?" Monty asks. "You know. If I lose my job."

"At least I could keep an eye on you," Miller says, without thinking about it, and Monty lights up in a way that means he maybe really should have thought about it. On the other hand, he'll be sad if this is the last he sees of Monty. No matter what happens.

"You can keep an eye on me either way," he says, like he's reading Miller's mind. "You can go, you know. You got your medal back. We're set."

He keeps watching the screen as Bellamy and Clarke take out the competition. They're an impressive team, he has to admit. He could use more soldiers as good a they are.

He can't look at Monty yet. He'll figure it out later. "I've stuck around this long," he says. "I might as well make sure you get home safe."

*

"What, you didn't think I could handle it?" Clarke yells, grinning, once she and Bellamy are clear of the group of racers. It's just Clarke and _Commander Cupcake_ left on the leader board, and Clarke is in second. 

"Hey, come on. Fourteen-on-one? Even I don't like those odds."

"We're down to one-on-one," she says, and Bellamy's heart flips over. It's her fight. He'd understand, if she didn't want him to stick around. But he doesn't like the idea of her alone up here, out of reach. She probably won't need him, but--what if she does?

Still, he's not making her choices for her. It's not his call.

"You want me to go?"

"No." The relief is instant, but then she adds, "I need you to make sure neither of us dies."

That stops him short. "Neither of you?"

"It's not her game," Clarke says. "She might not be my favorite person right now, but--"

But if she dies, she won't come back. She's _gone_. And Bellamy doesn't want that any more than Clarke does. 

"Got it," he says. "No one dies."

"No one dies," she agrees, and floors it.

Honestly, Bellamy's not convinced Lexa _would_ kill Clarke. She could have done it any time, if she really thought it would last. If she was really so interested in making sure she'd never race. If Lexa wanted Clarke dead, she would have been dead long ago. This was a last resort, and Bellamy doesn't think she'll do it herself.

So all Clarke really has to do is win, and he has to make sure he can catch them, if something goes wrong.

The good news is, Clarke's got her glitch pretty much under control, and it's letting her pick up time. She's disappearing and reappearing faster than he can quite keep up, but he's not bound by staying on the road, so he can sort of work it out with shortcuts.

"What do you do with her?" he calls.

"What?"

"After this, what do you do with Lexa?"

"People like her," says Clarke, easy. "We might as well just let her keep racing, right?"

"Clarke Bar's Home for Lost Video Game Characters," he teases.

"Hey, if we've got the room, right?"

"Whatever you want to do."

"You could stay too," she says. "If you wanted."

He swallows hard. "They put my game out of order," he says. "If I don't go back, we're getting unplugged. And Monty is--Monty's cool. I can't stay. But I'm going to visit a lot."

She disappears and reappears in front of him. He can see Lexa now; they're closing in. "If we fix this, I can visit you too. I'm going to yell at every single person in your game."

"Whenever you want."

She grins, glitches out and back in again. "Not that often," she calls back to him. "But whenever I can."

As he predicted, the endgame is pure racing. Lexa's never died before, couldn't have, so he wasn't surprised to find that most of the racers' abilities weren't fatal, and Lexa definitely exaggerated their usual casualty rates. Lexa has something like a sword, because of course she does, and Clarke's got her glitch, and it's a tight, exciting race with some good tricks on both sides, but it's _just_ a race. 

And Clarke wins, of course. She's a racer; it's in her code.

Miller's (mostly) smiling and Monty's cheering as she passes the finish line, but Bellamy's the one she throws herself at, and he catches her, wraps her up in his arms and holds on as the whole game resets itself around them. The medieval stuff is what goes, which doesn't even make _sense_ , because why would a sci-fi candy game have a _kingdom_? Why is that something Lexa added instead of part of the code? She might have made it make _more_ sense.

Whatever. His girlfriend's game is dumb. He doesn't care. It's _her game_. It's back.

"Congratulations," he murmurs. She's changed a little too, cleaner, and cotton candy in her hair is apparently part of her character design. Just to make sure she's on theme, he guesses.

He plucks it out anyway, and she grins at him. "Thanks for coming back."

"Sorry for leaving."

"I get it," she says, firmly. "You didn't--I'm sorry too, okay. Forgiven?"

"Forgiven." He wets his lips, nearly leans in to kiss her again, but he can see the other racers approaching, cautious, embarrassed, and Lexa lingering like she doesn't know if she should stay or run. So he rests his forehead against hers instead. "I think you've got some logistics to deal with. And I have to get back to my game, see if we can keep from getting unplugged."

"Yeah," she says, and she _does_ kiss him, quick. "See you tonight?"

He presses his forehead against hers and makes himself let go. "Yeah. Can't wait."

*

Clarke might not think of herself as a princess yet, no matter what her newly recovered code tells her, but everything else feels like it's slotted back into place, all the parts of her finally where they _belong_. She doesn't care about being the main character, doesn't care about being on the game. She's a _racer_ , and that's all she needs.

She gives Lexa the choice to stay as a regular racer or leave the game, and she's surprisingly relieved when her choice is to stay. If she left, then Clarke would always be looking over her shoulder, wondering if Lexa was coming back, if she had gone to a new game, corrupted it. Given someone else the life she gave Clarke.

She's glad she can keep an eye on her. And she's pretty sure Lexa won't manage to pull anything like this on her again. Even if she gets to the code, Bellamy would notice.

Her first day of racing is perfect too. The glitch is her _special move_ , not an accident. Not a fluke. It's a part of her, and that feels right too. She doesn't know what she would have done if she'd just lost it with the reset. She wouldn't have been herself anymore. And it's so cool, feeling the _players_ using it, figuring out the best ways to use the new character.

Just how it's supposed to be.

Still, as great as it is, finally getting to be _herself_ , all she can really think about all day is Bellamy. Every time she wins, she can see his game across from hers, which she would have known she could, if she'd thought about it. He saw her on the console, after all. But it's still strange, getting the view of him and Monty on their casing, Bellamy looking so _evil_.

Not like himself at all.

She throws her coin into the ante at the end of the night, reminds herself to be home in time for the race, gets caught up by people who want to apologize for forgetting her, to tell her how glad they are things are back to normal. She manages to extricate herself with promises they'll talk later, and then she's off, ready to leave her game for the first time ever.

It doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel like it can be possible. But there's the exit, and when she steps out, there's no resistance. She barely even feels it. She remembers pounding against the invisible barrier that kept her in, desperate to escape, to go anywhere else, and now she can just _walk through_.

She's still walking back and forth between her game and the train station when Bellamy shows up.

"This seems normal," he remarks, dry.

She laughs. "Yeah, everything today has been the opposite of normal. I'm a _racer_. I have a _castle_ , Bellamy."

"Congratulations," he says, but his voice is a little off. Maybe he thinks now that she has a castle, she doesn't need him, which is about the stupidest thing of all time, but she wouldn't blame him either, really. People seem to have this history of not wanting him, because everyone who has ever met him is apparently _stupid_.

So she wraps her arms around his neck and smiles at him, smiles wider when his hands fix themselves on her waist. "I was coming to find you. I couldn't wait. But I've never been able to leave before. I couldn't believe it worked."

"I got caught up because the rest of the game wanted to thank me for coming back, if it makes you feel better. They missed me. They made me a cake."

"I still want to yell at them. What did you tell them to get out of it?"

His laugh is soft, and he flushes a little. "It turns out _I want to check on my girlfriend_ is a very acceptable reason to leave."

She laughs and slides her mouth against his, quick and easy. "That's a really good reason. Your girlfriend had a great day."

"Awesome," he says, and presses her up against the wall of the station for a real kiss, long and deep and perfect. She tangles her hands in his hair and kisses back.

It's better than winning a race. It's like everything finally slotting into place, every part of her.

"Fuck," he breathes, barely pulling away, and Clarke laughs.

"Hey, I could totally swear now."

He kisses her neck. "Yeah, I'm gonna make you. How did you ever have sex in your game? What kind of dirty talk did you do?"

"Stop making fun of my game, dick."

He hums against her throat. "Definitely not."

"You're an asshole."

"You're dating a villain," he points out. "You really should have figured this out."

She can feel the medal she made him against her chest, by his heart. His nose is pressed under her jaw and his breath is warm on her skin and she's nearly stupid with happiness. She's got everything she's ever wanted, even the things she didn't know to want.

Like him.

"I knew," she says, carding her hand through his messy hair. "But you know. Chicks dig bad guys."

He laughs. "They do?"

"That's what I heard, yeah."

"Huh," he says, and kisses her again. "I sure hope so."


End file.
